Where the Ocean Hits the Sky
by Laura of Maychoria
Summary: Shiro is sick and Lance is the only one who can look after him. If Shiro will let him, of course. Hopefully it's just a cold.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** An anon on tumblr kind of off-handedly mentioned that they would like me to write a Shiro sickfic, and I promptly pooped out this first chapter in two days. Ugh, I'm predictable. I am too impatient to wait to post until I finish the story, so here you go. I do expect it to be shortish, though. For once.

Title from Orchestrated Love Song by Burlap to Cashmere.

* * *

Shiro kept himself upright through the entire, interminable ceremony. Lance had no idea how he did it. Every time he glanced at Shiro's face, he kept expecting to see a crack. A grimace, a bead of sweat on his temple, a tremble in his hands. Nothing. Only the flush in Shiro's cheeks gave away that he was anything less than perfectly healthy, and the Haptoxians would have no idea what that signified.

As soon as the morning exaltation to the sun was over, Lance hustled over to Shiro's side and hovered anxiously, ready for Shiro to lean on him if he needed to. Shiro made no such move, holding himself up with dignified steadiness, though he moved more slowly than usual.

Once they were back in their diplomat's quarters, though, Shiro collapsed into a chair and doubled over, heaving for breath. He started to cough, and then he couldn't stop. Lance flailed for a few moments, searching around for some cough drops or tea or anything, really, but there was nothing. He ended up perching on the arm of Shiro's chair, carefully rubbing his upper back in big, round circles.

"There you go," he said as gently and calmly as he could. "It's okay. You're okay. Let it out. Everything is going to be okay."

Shiro shook his head, still coughing and hacking up a storm. Lance frowned, but he couldn't disagree. This sickness had hit Shiro with all the subtlety and grace of a monsoon, with no warning at all, and it was draining him like pouring water from a bucket. They didn't even know what it _was._

So far it seemed like nothing more than a bad cold, but they were on an alien planet, for corn's sake. It could be anything. These could be the first symptoms of some kind of space plague. When Shiro first started feeling bad, he had tried to keep Lance at a distance in case he caught it too, but it had been two days and Lance wasn't feeling a thing. And of course Lance had ignored all of Shiro's warnings to stay away, so he really ought to be showing some symptoms by now, if he would at all.

No, this was probably yet another sign of the universe having it out for Shiro at all times. Seriously, this guy had been through so much horror and pain that it made Lance sick just to contemplate it. And one consequence of all the stress and torture Shiro had suffered was a depressed immune system, apparently. Which just figured.

After a few moments, Shiro held out a hand and waved it in the air. Lance stared at it for a moment, not sure what he was driving at, and Shiro continued to cough. "Lance...please..." Quiznak, his voice was strained.

Lance started. "Ah! Got it." He jumped up from the chair and hustled over to the dresser-like contraption, where he had found some cloths the other day that could be used like handkerchiefs. He brought one back to Shiro, who held it in both hands and began to spit into it between coughs.

Lance tried to get a glimpse-he had learned from over a decade of dealing with sick siblings and other relatives that the color of mucus could be important-but Shiro was trying to be discreet, for the moment. Well, Lance would just have a peek at it when Shiro tired, then. The guy was going to run out of energy even for coughing any moment now, Lance could tell.

And yeah, there he went. Shiro suddenly fell limp and slumped back in the chair, eyes fluttering closed, the hand holding the cloth falling still on the arm of the chair. Lance reached out for the cloth and gently tugged on it, but Shiro opened one eye and looked at him. "Still...need it."

Lance grimaced. "Right. I'll get you a new one."

He went back to the dresser and retrieved a clean cloth. This time Shiro let him exchange it. Lance stood there for a moment holding the used cloth in his hands.

"Shiro..."

Shiro opened both eyes this time to meet his gaze. His mouth was grim, but he didn't speak. They had already had this conversation more than once.

Still, Lance winced and went on. "I really think we should tell the Haptoxians that you're sick with something. They might have medicine that can help."

"No." Shiro's voice was awful, raspy and congested. "We don't have time."

Lance looked away to the window, where the reddish yellow sun shone bright above the horizon. The Sun Festival was only three planetary rotations in the Haptoxian solar cycle, and it was the only time when their culture permitted major changes in their political system. Like, for instance, allying with an intergalactic military force from the depths of legend.

Lance knew this opportunity was limited time only. It was why he and Shiro had been dropped off here while the others had to deal with a fire in another galaxy. The hope had been that Shiro, as the commander of Voltron itself, would be acceptable to the Haptoxians as a negotiating figure in Allura's place, while Lance could back him up with his social skills. Over the past year and a half, Lance had developed a lot as a diplomat, to the point that Allura relied on him often during tricky meetings with other cultures. As long as Lance could hold back his urge to flirt with all and sundry, he was quite persuasive, if he did say so himself.

So why couldn't he convince Shiro to ask for help?

"Lance." A sigh, gentle and constrained. Lance looked back to Shiro, unconsciously twisting the cloth in his hands. "I'll be fine. It's just a cough and a fever. One more day, and we'll be in the clear."

Lance swallowed, then nodded. He turned his back to Shiro, then opened the cloth and looked at the mucus. It was light yellow. Okay. Could be worse.

"Lance. Buddy." Shiro sounded so tired. He must have thought Lance had turned his back on him figuratively as well as literally. "Just put up with me for a little while longer. Please? I need your help."

Lance stiffened, his shoulders going straight. He wadded up the cloth and tossed it aside, then turned to Shiro with a determined smile. "Okay, then. I got this."

He strode over to Shiro and bent down to pull his arm over his shoulder. "If that's what you want, you got it, boss. But you gotta listen to me if you want my help, okay? First thing, you have to rest as much as you can whenever you don't have to be in public."

Shiro blew out a breath and gave Lance a grateful smile. "Okay. I hear you. You're in charge as long as I'm this out of it, at least in private."

Lance levered Shiro to his feet and led him over to the bed. At least their quarters were nicely furnished. The beds were large and clean, with fresh sheets changed daily. He set Shiro down on the edge of the mattress, then started helping him slide out of his formal jacket.

Shiro let himself be guided, let Lance do the work, and at his gesture, he sank back into the bed with a sigh. Lance arranged a sheet around him, fluffed pillows at his back, then went for water. There was a pitcher on a table by the door, a bowl with fruit. Lance came back with an earthenware cup cool with condensation and set it in Shiro's hands.

Shiro drank, slow. Lance sat on the edge of the bed and watched his face. It was strange to have Shiro so acquiescent, but at the same time, it wasn't. Shiro was tired, and he trusted Lance. Had trusted him for a long time. Lance remembered a time when that hadn't been quite so true. Not that Shiro didn't trust Lance, exactly, in those first months, but he had felt compelled to be the leader, the caretaker, in charge of himself and others at all times. Now, after months and battles and heartbreak and tears, Shiro had the fortitude to let go a little.

Just when he was sick. Or injured. Or strung out on quintessence. Or any of another dozen things that had happened to take Shiro's control away and force him to rely on his teammates.

Shiro still didn't like it, of course. The others were younger than him, and it grated at Shiro that they couldn't just be _young._ Couldn't be kids, couldn't be students and cadets, letting the adults make the decisions and fight the battles and face the enemies. But that choice had vanished with the floor that fell beneath them in that cavern back on earth, and now they were all soldiers in a never-ending war. If Shiro couldn't trust them to care for himself, how could he trust them to defend the universe? So he did.

Shiro drank as much water as he could, then grimaced in discomfort and lowered the cup to his lap. "You okay?" Lance asked. "Be honest."

A smile, gossamer-thin. Shiro had promised to let Lance be in charge, so now he was forced to answer. "It's...sloshing," he admitted.

"Your stomach? Nausea?"

"Not bad. Just uncomfortable. I don't feel like throwing up. Just don't want to drink anymore."

Lance reached out and trailed the tips of his fingers over Shiro's forehead. The fever might be worse. Shiro's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then opened to look at him steadily under the frail shade of his fingers. "You have a headache?" Lance asked. He drew his hand back and let it rest in his lap, unwilling to push too far.

"Small one."

Lance blew out a breath and gave Shiro his best reproachful face. He had learned it from Hunk, so he knew it was powerful.

"...Moderate one," Shiro amended.

Lance hummed. He went back to the bowl of fruit and sniffed around until he found one that smelled tangy, almost sour, which told him it probably had asorbic acid and therefore Vitamin C. He brought it to Shiro along with a knife and held the fruit in front of Shiro's face, about half a foot away. "Does that smell good to you? Like, abnormally so?"

Shiro eyed it askance for a moment, then looked up at Lance. "It does, actually."

Lance nodded in satisfaction. "Your body knows what it needs." He sat down on the edge of the bed and started slicing the fruit into manageable pieces. Pinkish-orange juice stained his fingers, welling out from the fresh cuts, but the flesh was firm enough to hold together, like a not-quite-ripe peach. He tested a small bite for himself and found the skin a little chewy, but not difficult to get through. So he didn't bother to peel it, just held a few wedges out in his hand for Shiro to take.

"Let's see if your stomach can handle that. If not, I can try making it into a juice or something, maybe cut it with some water so it's not too strong."

Shiro held out his hand, hovering uncertainly over the fruit wedges for a moment, then took one between thumb and forefinger. "It really does smell good," he murmured, not quite believing. He bit off a chunk and chewed. Lance watched his face.

Then Shiro smiled, broader and more lovely than before, and leaned back into the pillows. "Yeah. That's good." It might have been Lance's imagination, but he sounded less congested than before. With just one bite of fruit.

Definitely Lance's imagination. His stupid, hopeful imagination. He'd been scolded enough times for letting it run away him, but somehow he could never stop it.

Still, Lance held out his handful of fruit wedges with a touch more urgency. "Eat as much as you want. I know you barely touched anything at breakfast. 'Starve a cold' is just a myth, man."

Shiro chuckled softly and did as requested. He finished most of the fruit before he waved off the remaining slices. Lance went back to the fruit bowl and found another one like it, plus a small plate, and brought it all over to set on Shiro's bedside table along with the pitcher and the earthenware cup. "Okay, that's pretty good. Try to get some rest, okay? If you feel like it, eat and drink."

Shiro had already been sinking into the pillows, eyes drifting shut, but at this his eyes widened again. "What are you going to do?"

Lance gave him a smile as confident and easy as he could make it. "Just gonna go check out the market."

Shiro sighed. "You're going to look for the Haptoxian equivalent of a pharmacy, aren't you?"

"I'll be discreet," Lance promised. "I'll act like I'm just curious, or better yet, asking questions for my scientist friends who aren't here to check things out for themselves. You know I've gotten a lot better at this subterfuge thing, Shiro."

"I know," Shiro said. "I'm glad you're here with me, Lance."

Lance's heart lurched in his chest. It meant a lot to hear Shiro say that, in that serious tone of voice. It wasn't one of Shiro's pep talks or encouragements, meant to prop up the team's spirits when they started to fail. Shiro was good at those, but this wasn't it. He said it because he meant it, that was all. Because it was true.

"Yeah, okay," Lance said after a moment, voice a touch shaky with emotion. Hopefully Shiro was too feverish to notice. "I'll be back soon, okay? You rest. I've got this."

"Okay." Shiro's eyes fell all the way shut even before Lance made it to the door. He paused there for a moment, watching Shiro sleep, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, listening to the low, phlegmy wheeze in his breath. Then he slipped out into the hall, careful to make nary a sound.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Shiro opened his eyes, the light in the room had changed greatly. It still had the yellowish cast of morning on Haptoxi, but it angled in the windows much more strongly. He squinted against the glare before he even cracked his eyelids, headache pounding behind his eyes. He wished Lance had thought to close the curtains before he left.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door to the suite began to open, and Shiro blinked himself into awareness quickly enough to see Lance shove his way inside, burdened with several boxes and bundles.

"Lance?" Shiro hated how weak and raspy his voice was. He cleared his throat, but he could tell it wasn't going to make it any better, so he didn't try again.

Lance shot him a smile as he crossed over to the table in the lounge area and began to set down the things he was carrying. "Hi, Shiro! Did you sleep well?"

Lance didn't mean to be so loud, Shiro told himself. Still, his energy and brightness seemed to grate on Shiro's nerves like sandpaper. He grit his teeth and held it back. Lance didn't deserve his irritation. He was doing everything he could to help, and doing a fine job of it, too. "Sleep was good."

"Yeah?" Lance finished unburdening himself and crossed over to Shiro again. He frowned when he saw the untouched fruit and water on the bedside table, but didn't say anything. Shiro made no attempt to justify himself. He had slept the entire time Lance was gone, so it didn't matter.

Lance stood there for a moment, watching Shiro's face. Then his eyes widened. "Oh!" he hustled over to the windows and started pulling the shades. "The light is bothering you, right? Your forehead is all wrinkled up like your headache is worse. I'm sorry. I should have done this before I left."

Shiro gulped, fighting down a swirl of guilt for thinking the same thing before Lance arrived, silently blaming him for not foreseeing every little thing that could inconvenience Shiro. "It's fine," he said. "I slept the whole time you were gone. It didn't bother me."

"Still..." Lance moved over to stand next to the bed. His hands were twisting together again, which Shiro really did not enjoy seeing. It wasn't that he didn't like Lance worrying over him, since it had happened plenty of times in the past and Shiro had been forced to accept eventually that his team cared about him and were just as preoccupied with his well-being as he was with theirs. It was more that he didn't like Lance being worried at all, about anything. Their lives were hard enough. So of course Shiro had to get sick on top of it and make everything even worse. Stupid universe.

"Really, Lance," he said as gently as he could. "It's no big deal." He glanced at the shaded windows, the height of the sun still visible through the fabric. "Is it time for midday meal?" He fought down a grimace. He really wasn't looking forward to forcing himself to his feet and holding himself rigidly steady through another long session with their hosts.

"Oh, I talked us out of that one." Lance's voice went easier, now, and his hands fell down at his sides. He even managed a grin, something like that old cocky thing he used to pull out when he wanted to show how clever he was. The expression was deeper now, softer, more joking than anything else. "I told the Haptoxians that you were communicating with the Princess, so you wouldn't be able to make the meal. They were understanding."

"Ah." The Haptoxians, with their deep reverence for tradition, retained a respect for Altean culture that they had all assumed had long vanished out of the universe. It hadn't been hard at all to convince them to consider allying with Voltron, after all. They only insisted that everything be done "in the proper order in accordance with nature."

"Besides," Lance went on, "It's most important that you're prepared for tonight, for sunset. That's The Time of Great Change, when the Haptoxians can _finally_ hitch their star to the Voltron wagon. That's the plan, anyway. So you just gotta rest up this afternoon, and get through the evening, and everything will be cool."

Lance sounded absolutely certain of this plan, enough that Shiro started to be too. Of course, this morning he had been the one trying to convince _Lance_ that this was going to work out, but that was Lance for you. He had a way of accepting the most optimistic view of things and making it his own, even if he had initial misgivings. His crazy amount of faith and hopefulness had dragged the team out of a jam more than once, or even twice.

"That's right," Shiro said warmly. "Exactly."

Lance grinned broadly, then looked back at the mound of things he had purchased. "And I think I might have found something to help out with that."

He walked back to the table and started unpacking his boxes and bundles, and Shiro watched with interest. He expected to see a wide variety of things, remembering the shopping sprees Lance had gone on in the past, and he was not disappointed. Lance removed and set aside a large miscellanea of items that had no possible use to a sick person. A set of earthenware dishes with Haptoxian patterns, samples of finely woven cloth, a small potted plant, vials of bright pigment and a bundle of brushes, some rolled-up canvases. Then, last, two bunches of herbs.

Lance stood there for a moment, contemplating the plants in his hands, then walked back over to the bed and stood there looking down at Shiro with a serious expression on his face. "Like I said I would, I told the shopkeeper where I found this that I was looking for medical advances to share with my scientist friends back on the Altean castle-ship. Anything cool and interesting from their culture, stuff that would be good for healing sicknesses that other planets might not have. We went around the room for awhile, talking about various stuff, and then we lit on these two plants. I used Hunk's scanner on them to make sure they were safe before I touched them, no worries."

He held up the herb in his right hand, which had dusty gray leaves shaped like mint, but longer, scattered through with tiny blue blossoms. "This is called praxia. If I make a tea out of it, it will soothe your symptoms for a while. Hours, the shopkeepers said. Enough for you to get a restful sleep, at least. It's not a cure, because viruses like head colds don't really have a cure. But it will help you feel better. It can have side effects if it's used too much, though."

Shiro nodded. Now that he knew what it was, he could barely tear his eyes away from the praxia. His head really, really hurt, and his chest was heavy, and his whole body was sore and fatigued. Relief, even temporary relief, would be wonderful. More than he had dared to hope for. "That...that would be nice," he said, voice rough.

Lance nodded slowly, then held up the other herb, which was lank and yellow. "And this one...it's called scleret. It's not really a cure, either, but what it can do..." He paused, biting his lip, then went back to the table. He set the herbs aside and dug down in the thin cloth wraps that had held them. He came up with a tiny bottle of yellow-tinted powder and brought it back to the bed, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger.

"The herb itself doesn't do much. Apparently the tea just makes you feel kind of funny and floaty and have weird thoughts and images in your mind. Some artists use it for inspiration or whatever. A bit like marijuana back home, I guess. But when scleret is processed and refined into a powder, like this, it can have...weird effects. The shopkeeper said, and I really hope that my translator was working right, that this will. Um. Concentrate a sickness."

Shiro blinked. "What?"

Lance laughed, not a little nervously. "Yeah, I couldn't quite parse that one, either. But I think what she meant is that it will, like, speed things up. She kept emphasizing 'over and done.' The sickness would be 'over and done.' Within a few hours. What it would do, right, it would make you go through everything quickly. So you would suffer the entire normal course of the sickness, but in a few hours, and then it will be done. But I'm guessing that it will make you really, really sick before it makes you better. Like, way worse than it would be if we just left it alone."

"Okay." Shiro was starting to understand the choice here. "Can they be used together?" If he could get through the sickness quickly, but with the symptoms soothed...

"No way." Lance's reaction was almost violent, a harsh shake of his head and a frightened grimace. "The shopkeeper said that would be...poison. Didn't even want to let me buy them both at the same time, but I reassured her it was just for science, so my friends could study them. I didn't want to lie, but... You know. Diplomacy is at least sixty percent lying to make people feel better, right? Everyone knows that. So all's fair in peace and democracy."

Shiro lay still, contemplating this.

Lance shook his head. "So anyway." He went back to the table and set down the bottle of powder, then came back with the praxia. "I already asked the kitchen to heat up some water for us. Should be here soon. I'm thinking, you drink some minty blue tea, sleep for a few hours, and get through The Time of Great Change tonight. Make nice with the Haptoxians, sign a treaty, all's good. Then we go home, and Coran and Hunk can have fun geeking out over the weird plants."

"Lance." Shiro made his voice as gentle as he could. Lance stopped rambling and looked at him. "I think you already knew which herb I would choose."

Lance wrinkled up his nose. "I only told you about the scleret because I knew you would be mad if you found out later and I hadn't told you already. It's really not a good idea, Shiro. We don't even know if it will work for humans. Yeah, Haptoxian and human biology have been compatible so far, and Hunk's Is This Thing Tasty scanner hasn't failed us yet, but who knows if it applies to a weird yellow plant? You could be allergic or something. At least the praxia tea will be mild, and if has bad side effects we can probably flush it out. But taking a highly concentrated powder that will make you really, really sick? For hours? By design? Come on. That just has bad idea written all over it."

"Lance," Shiro said again, even more gently.

Lance's shoulders slumped, the hand holding the praxia falling limp to his side. "Yeah, I know," he said morosely. "I had to try."

"I appreciate it, buddy. I know you're just looking out for me. But it will be much, much better if I can face the ceremony tonight with a clear head and a strong body."

As much as Shiro wasn't looking forward to a few hours of a violent sickness, he was looking forward even less to another hours-long diplomatic event in which he would have to hold back every cough, every shake of his hands, every hint that he was anything less than well. All while his head was pounding and his stomach was churning and all he wanted to do was sleep. The mere prospect was exhausting, and he didn't want to do it anymore.

He would try, but he already knew that his mind was going to wander, and he was going to have trouble formulating his thoughts and comprehending complex ideas. He didn't want that. He wanted to give his absolute best work for Allura, for the Voltron Alliance, and he couldn't do that while he was sick with a cold.

If he could prevent that by choosing to suffer a few hours of horrible sickness instead... Well. It was the definition of no-brainer.

Lance gave him a longsuffering look, then heaved a full-body sigh that would have made any sullen teenager proud and went back to the table. He put down the praxia and picked up the bottle of scleret powder.

"Lance." Shiro's voice was a little stronger this time.

Lance looked back at him.

Shiro watched him seriously. "This affects you, too. I know...if I'm that sick, it'll be hard on you, trying to take care of me. If it's too much, say the word, and I'll drop it. Soothing the symptoms will be fine."

It wasn't manipulative, not really. But Shiro wasn't surprised at all when Lance smiled and stood straight, shiny-toothed and bright. The quickest way to get Lance on board with anything was to make it into a personal challenge. To ask him to stretch himself, even in the smallest way. Lance was always ready and willing to oblige.

"No sweat, man," Lance said, pride in his voice. "If you think I can't handle one sick, out-of-his-mind dude, you seriously underestimate my power. I've been through it with siblings and cousins, like, dozens of times."

"As the sole caretaker, though?" Shiro asked, skeptical at the last moment.

Lance hummed uncomfortably and glanced away. "Well, no." He shook his head and looked back to Shiro's face. "But there's a first time for everything, right? I'll be fine. You'll see."

"I believe you," Shiro said. And he did.


	3. Chapter 3

An hour into the ordeal, Shiro changed his mind.

"This was a bad idea," he gasped. He was curled up in a ball at the head of his bed, now, surrounded with a swamp of blankets and sheets, one pillow under his head and another clutched in his hands against his stomach in a failed attempt to quell the nausea that came from swallowing just...a lot of snot. A lot of it. He had expelled a lot, too, but Lance knew how colds worked. There was a lot of snot in Shiro's stomach right now.

"I told you," Lance said, because fair was fair. Shiro had asked for this in every conceivable way. It didn't mean that Lance didn't feel sorry for him, because he did, but it did mean that Lance didn't feel guilty. He was blameless here.

Okay, he could have not told Shiro about the scleret, even risking Shiro's wrath when he later found out about its existence. Or he could have not bought any in the first place. Or he could have picked a different apothecary shop.

Yeah, okay, no more going down that rabbit hole. It went nowhere good. Lance had done his duty. He had tried to warn Shiro off, and he hadn't listened, and now they were here.

Lance sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed Shiro's back in firm circles, the way he knew felt the best when your body was overloaded with sensations. "This is what you get for reneging on your promise to let me be in charge," he said. "If you'd let me make the call on which herb to use, this wouldn't be happening."

"You were on board," Shiro muttered into the pillow. "I said you didn't have to, and you just went all, 'Watch me be awesome, I'm gonna be so awesome.'"

"First off, that's a terrible impression of me," Lance said, rubbing a little harder. "Secondly, you manipulated me. I'm Allura's top choice for diplomat amongst the paladins, you think I can't tell when someone is playing to my weaknesses? Just because I let you do it doesn't mean I can't tell when it's happening."

Shiro groaned.

"And thirdly, I _am_ being awesome," Lance said, a touch peevish. "I'm the best nurse you've ever had. Don't lie to me and tell me differently."

Shiro sighed, then started coughing. It was violent and awful and wrenching, and Lance leaped to get another cloth from the pile on the table and hold it beneath his mouth. Shiro convulsed and drooled and spat into the cloth, expelling more phlegm. It was dark yellow now, another testament to how much worse he'd gotten.

Eventually Shiro finished and fell back on the pillow, shuddering and hiding his face. Lance removed the cloth, then went about making up a cup of tangy juice, diluted with enough water to make it easy on Shiro's stomach. He moved around to the other side of the bed and bent over on his knees next to the Shiro-ball so he could hold the cup in front of Shiro's face.

"Come on, big guy. Lift your head. You gotta keep your fluids up."

Shiro lifted his face enough to look up at him, eyes a little too blank and distant. His cheeks were wet now, not just with sweat, but with tears, too. They were still leaking out of his eyes. Lance grimaced, and his voice went softer. "Ah, I'll help you, okay?"

He switched the cup to his other hand, and got his right under Shiro's head to lift him up. Shiro was heavy, but compliant, and Lance managed to hold the cup to his lips and get him to drink a few sips. It was slow, but Shiro got some down. Then he closed his lips and his eyes in silent resistance, and Lance let his head rest on the pillow again.

He blew out a breath and traveled around to the table to set the cup down. Then back to his spot cross-legged on the bed, rubbing Shiro's back. "Are you cold?" Earlier he had gone on a whirlwind tour of the room, gathering up every single blanket and comforter and towel he could find when Shiro was shivering violently and couldn't get warm. Now the various fabrics formed a wadded up nest around Shiro's body, thrown off when the fever had made him start to overheat.

"No. Still too hot," Shiro said softly. "Thanks for asking."

"No biggie."

They fell silent, Shiro too miserable to speak and Lance unable to think of anything to say. The banter had been fun while it had lasted, though. Lance wanted to bring it back, but it seemed cruel to poke at Shiro again when he hadn't invited it.

"Lance," Shiro murmured.

"Mmhmm?" Lance barely listened, concentrating on giving a comforting backrub.

"You are definitely the best nurse I've ever had."

Lance's mouth twitched. He didn't want to smile, because it sounded like Shiro was approaching delirium and probably not even aware of what he was saying, but yeah. That was really sweet. Lance's cheeks were heating up.

"Sure," he said. "I bet you're only saying that because the only other nurse you've ever had was Keith, and he sucks at being nice to people."

"No," Shiro said seriously, rather than responding to Lance's joking tone. "There was my mom, too. And an actual nurse when I got in a motorcycle accident in high school and had a compound fracture in my leg. And Coran about three times."

Lance blinked. "Dude. Did you seriously just say that I'm a better nurse than your mom?"

Shiro hummed reluctantly. "Well..."

Lance laughed. "Okay, got it. I won't tell anyone. Our secret."

"Thanks." Shiro let out a muffled whimper and shifted slightly. "This really sucks."

Lance's voice went soft. "Yeah." He moved his hand up to Shiro's head and started scraping through his hair.

"I know I've felt worse in the past," Shiro said, voice distant. "I've been through a lot of horrible things, and some of them hurt worse than this. But I can't remember them that well, and right now this seems to be the only thing that matters. It's really...really bad."

"I know." Lance wrinkled up his face, though Shiro couldn't see him. "Pain in memories is never as bad as pain in the present. Your mind can't, like, process it that well. Or every time you remembered something painful you'd be a screaming mess again."

Shiro huffed out a laugh. "I practically am. Every time I have a flashback, I'm the most useless person on the team."

"No." Quiet. Fierce. "You're strong, Shiro. You're the strongest person I know. The flashbacks...yeah, they're a problem. But we've learned to deal with them. You're not useless. You're never useless."

Shiro didn't seem to be listening to him, too caught up in what his body and mind were doing to him at the moment. "I really am sorry I didn't listen to you. This was a bad idea. Not just because I feel like death right now, but also because I'm being such a nuisance to you."

Lance opened his mouth to respond, but Shiro was still going. His voice was soft and wandering, but clear.

"You... You all really like exploring new planets, but especially you, Lance, you always take such joy in it... You love meeting new people, seeing new sights, trying new foods and playing with new toys... I bet you had a really good time visiting the market, even though you had to spend all that time looking for something to help me. The things you bought... They're presents, right? Dishes for Coran and cloth for Allura. A plant for Hunk. Paint and canvases for Keith. You probably have other presents tucked in there that you didn't bring out, for me and Pidge and even the mice."

Lance's face heated up again. Shiro knew him so well. Lance hadn't realized how transparent he was.

"If I wasn't sick, you'd still be out there, enjoying the market or wandering around town talking to people. Or even gabbing with the politicians, quiznak, Lance, I don't know when you got so good at politics, but it's kind of scary... This planet is really pretty, one of the nicest we've been to in quite a while, and I thought Allura was giving us the easy job, giving us a break, but instead... I'm really sorry, Lance. This sucks. For me, but even more for you. I wish I hadn't asked for the scleret. I wish I hadn't gotten sick in the first place. I wish..."

"Shiro." Lance couldn't stand it anymore. His pressed his hand against the back of Shiro's head as hard as he dared, and that rough, rasping voice ground to a halt. "Shiro, stop. You can't... Just stop."

Shiro went still, just breathing. Lance heard the phlegm, the breathlessness, but at least there was no rattling in his chest or his throat. It was still only a cold. A bad one, painful and debilitating, but not deadly. Not pneumonia, nothing like that. He had been afraid, for a moment...

But this still couldn't stand. This was too much. It couldn't be allowed.

Lance stood up from his spot at Shiro's back, moving slowly and deliberately, hoping that Shiro wouldn't feel abandoned when Lance's hand slid away from his hair. He moved around to the other side of the bed so he could see Shiro's face, then lay down next to him, on his side facing his leader. His hands reached out and folded around Shiro's flushed and burning cheeks, holding him.

Shiro watched him, eyes fever-bright, mouth agape because he couldn't breathe through his nose right now. Lance smiled, hoping that Shiro could see him through the haze of delirium.

"Shiro, I don't care," he told him. "Yeah, you're right. I had fun in the market. I like visiting new worlds. I like buying presents for my friends. I even like talking to politicians, sometimes. It's just...it's hilarious, the tiny, petty things they care about so much while we're out there in space defending them, saving the universe, and they don't know, they can't know, they'll never know what it's like...

"But I don't care. It's not that important. You know what's important? You are. You're important. You're more important than any of that."

Shiro sucked in a breath, harsh and shuddering, and Lance smiled wider, tears in his eyes. He hesitated, then went on. Shiro was totally out of it with fever and delirium. He wasn't going to remember a word of this, so Lance could say whatever he wanted to. It wouldn't be embarrassing if only he remembered it.

"Yeah, it sucks you got sick. I wish you hadn't, too. But not because I'm missing out on stuff that would be more fun than taking care of a sick person. None of that matters. It sucks that we're in a war, too. I know you hate it, not because of what it requires of you, but because of what it takes from the rest of us. You want us to be kids. You want us to have fun. You want us to be innocent and carefree and safe. And we aren't.

"You want to protect me, I get that, and it makes you sick that there are some things you can't protect me from. Like you getting sick. But it's okay. I'm okay with it. Sometimes I hate it, too, but not right now. Not today. Today, I'm glad. I'm a defender of the universe, I'm a hero, I'm a warrior, and I'm a sick nurse. And it's cool. I like it. You don't have to protect me from this. I'm okay. We love you, Shiro. We all love you so much. So I don't mind doing this. I want to. There's nothing to protect me from here.

"Someday, when this war is over, I'll get to do all the fun things I missed out on. I'll go back to all the planets we didn't have time to really explore. I'll come back to Haptoxi and wander around the market and buy presents for my parents and my brothers and sisters and cousins, and I'll talk to the people and eat the food and gab with the politicians. When the war is over, I'll still be a hero of the universe, and I'll be able to do whatever I want. There will be plenty of time. We're going to win, and then we'll have all the time in the world. In the universe.

"So don't worry about me, Shiro, okay? You just get better. You rest and drink juice and let the fever run its course. I'll be here with you the whole way through, because I want to be. No other reason. No other reason at all, I swear. I want to be here. I'm okay. Everything is okay, and you're going to be okay, too."

Shiro let out a slow breath and closed his eyes, nestling his cheek into Lance's hand against the pillow. Lance smiled and stroked his face with the other hand, then carefully pulled away. Shiro whimpered at the loss of contact, eyes sliding half-open, and Lance touched his hair.

"I'm still here. Not going anywhere. Just trying to get somewhere more central, okay? I'm still here."

He left the hand in Shiro's hair as he maneuvered, getting up on his knees, then moving into the center of the bed. With some shifting and rearrangement, he got himself sitting upright at the head of the bed, his back against the big windows covered with shades. He lifted Shiro's head, along with his pillow, and slid it into his lap, stretching out his legs with a sigh. Shiro curled up closer and relaxed.

There, now Lance was in reaching distance of the table, so he could get snot rags and juice and anything else. He carded his fingers through Shiro's hair and leaned his head back against the window. "You okay down there, buddy?"

"Yeah," Shiro said. A little rough and faint, but he seemed aware of himself. "This is good."

He sounded contrite, almost embarrassed. Lance smiled and petted his head. Shiro went limp.

The afternoon passed. Shiro napped, woke when his fever got too bad, coughed and convulsed, and drank juice and clear broth from the kitchen when he could. Lance helped him to the bathroom, handed him cloths, held cups for him, wiped his face down with cool water, and petted his hair between times. Sometimes he hummed. Sometimes he sang. Sometimes he talked, rambling about anything he could think of, stories about his family, things he did with Hunk and Pidge around the castle, hopes and plans for the future. Dollars to donuts Shiro wouldn't remember a word, but that was okay.

Behind the shaded windows, the light changed. The orange light of afternoon faded to the reddish light of evening. Soon would come the riot of color that signified sunset, and by then they needed to be out there with the Haptoxians, experiencing The Time of Great Change.

By now, Lance was getting a little worried. Shiro had been sleeping quietly for an hour or so. What if he didn't wake up in time? What if the sickness was still raging? All of that suffering would be for nothing.

He rested his hand on Shiro's forehead, and his shoulders jerked in surprise. No fever. Shiro's skin felt cool, though a bit crusty with dried sweat. Lance leaned closer, listening. Shiro's breath sounded smooth, no roughness or raspiness.

Lance took Shiro's shoulders in his hands, still draped over his lap, and gave him a gentle shake. "Shiro. Shiro, can you wake up?"

Shiro stirred and grunted into the pillow, then went still. Lance could almost feel him blinking, how sticky and uncomfortable his eyes must be after everything. After a moment, Shiro rolled his head over and looked up at Lance. His eyes were clear, his face open in surprise. "Hey."

Lance smiled. "How you feeling?"

"Pretty good. Fine." Shiro lifted his hand and flexed it in front of his face, then looked up at Lance again. His voice flooded with relief. "It worked. It's over. It's done."

Lance slumped a bit in relief, too. "Good. I'm glad." He looked behind himself out the window. "The Time of Great Change is close. I think you have time for a shower though."

"Okay. Good."

Still, for a moment longer, Shiro didn't move. Lance looked back to him, eyebrows raised.

Shiro was staring up at his face, a soft smile on his lips. "Thank you, Lance."

Lance's mouth twisted. "No biggie. I wanted to be here."

"Yeah. I remember you saying that."

Lance went still, face heating up. "You...you remember?"

"Yeah."

"All of it? I totally thought... You were so delirious, there was no way you would remember..."

Shiro laughed softly. "Yeah, all of it."

Lance groaned and covered his face with both hands.

Shiro lifted his hand and patted Lance gently on the cheek. "Thank you."

The words were soft, heartfelt. Lance opened his fingers, bracketing his eyes, and looked down at his face. Shiro was still smiling, broad and sincere. "Thank you, Lance. You did a good job."

Lance closed his fingers again so he wouldn't have to look at him. "Just leave me here to die."

Shiro chuckled and slowly sat up. He reached out and ruffled Lance's hair, rough and loving. "It's okay. I won't tell anyone what a sweetheart you are. You can keep your reputation as idiotic manchild of the team."

"Take your shower," Lance said. "Last order. After that, you can be in charge again."

Shiro laughed and went.

Lance lowered his hands into his lap and leaned against the window with a sigh. Today had been rough. But they'd gotten through it.

The color started to shift behind him, breaking out in a rainbow. Lance smiled.

It hadn't been completely terrible, either.


End file.
